With
the HBO miniseries, Mildred Pierce, director Todd Haynes tilts a lance
at the publicís memory of the classic 1945 film that brought Joan
Crawford an Oscar and cinematic immortality. The biggest difference in
Haynesí rendition is in its literalness; sticking nearly word for word
to James M. Cainís original 1941 novel. When youíre finished with all
five episodes and nearly six hours of the series, but for the
cornerstone of the premise built around a motherís obsession to please
an ungrateful child, you wonít remotely recognise Haynesí adaptation
from director Michael Curtizís far briefer one.

The
Depression was more than just a financial catastrophe; in the Pierce
home, itís a permanent black cloud. Mildredís impasse with her cheating
husband leaves her a single mother with all her focus on her daughter,
Veda. Veda is one spoiled little madam, but Mildred only sees Vedaís
greed and selfishness as admirable qualities. Mildred will do anything
for her childís love and respect, even hiding the waitressing job she
must keep to survive. Mildred decides to use her remarkable homemaking
skills to open up a restaurant of her own, eventually becoming quite an
entrepreneur, yet none of Mildredís success ever gains her credit with
her snobbish child. Mildredís new lover, Monty Beragon, a bankrupt
playboy, becomes Vedaís new playmate and babysitter, training her in the
ways of elitism and debauchery. The trouble begins when Veda learns
those lessons all too well, but will Vedaís reprehensible behaviour
force Mildred to finally see the truth about her darling child?

Though
Todd Haynesí and Michael Curtizís adaptations couldnít be more
dissimilar, itís hard not to compare the two and one of the problems
with this new version is that as in Cainís book, Mildred is simply not
likeable. The woman is in a state of constant druthers; someone who
never seems to have known joy and may never know it. The incredible
steps she takes to overcome disaster and the lessons learned from that
struggle never soak in because of Mildredís tunnel vision. She only has
eyes for Veda and the only thing that matters is making Veda -- who was
never grateful a day in her life -- happy. In the film version, all the
heaped-on melodrama gave Joan Crawford a chance to show an emotional
gamut and a sense of humour. The audience rooted for her Mildredís
success and was appalled when her daughter was so terrible to such a
nice lady. One wouldnít necessarily call this Mildred nice; sheís a
hard-working frump trudging through life with an iron will, a misplaced
sense of pride and absolutely no worldview or inner perspective. After
being rebuffed by her teenaged daughter for what seems like the
three-hundredth time, Mildred is asked a simple question about Veda,
ďCanít you leave her alone?Ē The shock on Mildredís face that anyone
could suggest such a thing leaves viewers no doubt that every emotional
kick in the teeth Mildred gets from her child is what sheís asked for.
Of course, the second my kid slapped me across the face, Iíd be out one
kid, but Iím not Mildred. I donít know how many people are
Mildred and so it goes we follow the travails of a woman who is a
masochistic fool. The extended format of the miniseries makes these
failings not only painful, but tedious. Wake up, sister!

Tedious is also the word Iíd use to describe the pacing of the series.
The timing is so uneven that one wonders whether five episodes were even
necessary? My sense was this could easily have been wrapped up in
three. Opening with bucolic scenes of 1930ís Southern California,
everything is filmed in a bright, hazy light and as one would expect
from a Haynes production, the details of the period are rich and
flawless. Sadly, the pacing of episode one is excruciating; from the
point of Mildredís hoisting of her old man to her frustrating job
search, a lot of nothing happens. Things begin to warm up near the end
of episode two with the appearance of Monty, Mildredís new suitor from
Old Money. Heís a spoiled bad boy with a barely-veiled contempt for
Mildredís blue collar riches, yet isnít too proud to freely partake of
it, becoming Mildredís kept man. Things pick up again when Veda as a
child is replaced by her teenaged self in the final two episodes. Even
so, there are some perplexing choices regarding the seriesí tempo, like
the duration of an opera performance: A poignant moment for sure, but
far too long. The book is written in a third-person narrative, so
Haynes has the characters awkwardly give voice to every description and
exposition the narrator is not present to provide. A scene where
Mildred explains how another characterís name was pronounced felt
superfluous because that particular character hadnít appeared onscreen
for three chapters. The strict adherence to the source may have been
admirable for fans of James M. Cainís or the Mildred character, but
doesnít necessarily make for good cinema and possibly even worse
television.

Playing Mildred as rigid and miserable as she is here is a pretty
thankless task, but Kate Winslet gives it her all. She is, perhaps
mercifully, too attractive to dislike even in her characterís unpleasant
skin. We can see the might of Winsletís performance, but Mildred is
written as so one-note and droning, itís like asking a world class
sprinter to run in place as fast as they can. For the first three
chapters, Morgan Turner plays Veda and she definitely captures the
pompous affectation described in the book, but it goes a bit far and the
performance comes off oddly. Younger Veda is unlovable and itís a
stretch to see why Mildredís so devoted. When Evan Rachel Wood takes
Veda over, we can see the more actressy nature of her pretensions and it
makes more sense. Wood chomps into the role like a snake in a ratís
nest. Sheís all venom and artifice, but Vedaís looks and charm allow us
to see why Mildred not only loves her child, but lives vicariously
through her as a second chance to get things right. The amazing Guy
Pearce plays the slithery Monty, a character that could have easily been
one-dimensional but for the pathos and self-loathing Pearce imbues in
him. Once again, Iím left to wonder why Pearce isnít the most famous,
in-demand actor on the planet? For all that Mildred Pierce could be
termed a series for women; the performances by the men are some of its
strongest tent poles. The excellent BrŪan F. O'Byrne plays Mildredís
ex-husband Bert far more sympathetically than heís written; a simple guy
who loves his family, but needs the support (- and ego-boost) of
a good woman. He and Mildred married too young for her to have been
that woman. In another 1945 comparison, an almost-unrecognisable James
LeGros adds brash character to Jack Carsonís strident, dated portrayal
of the Pierceís double-dealing frenemy lawyer. Back to the ladies: In
the 1945 picture, Eve Ardenís unforgettable character, Ida, was actually
a combination of two women in the book. The more Arden-ish of those is
played by Melissa Leo as a kindly, streetwise neighbour who sometimes
sees things too clearly for Mildredís taste. Leo takes her part with a
heavy splash of Ardenís sass, making her one of the most memorable
things in the series.

As an
experiment in adaptation, Mildred Pierce is interesting. There must be
something to a production with a cast this brilliant and it is the
superior performances that are really the compelling factor. If you
canít appreciate the fine acting, the material is simply not as
incendiary as it mightíve been seventy years ago. Haynes further sticks
to the novel versus the 1941 film by removing a huge noir-ish plot point
that wasnít in the book, but made the movie a melodramatic smash. Being
HBO, there are a few sex scenes sprinkled about and Wood prancing about
in all her glory for one scene, but those few and far between moments
are not necessarily enough to hold anyoneís attention through almost
eight hours spread over more than a month of Sundays. So, if youíre
looking for something fiery and sensational, this may not be your slice
of pie. Ultimately, for the purpose of keeping a cable audience over
five weeks, Mildred Pierce, gorgeous and brilliantly performed as it is,
doesnít work as anything more than a tepid soap opera, nor did it
require so much time to be told.